StarKissed
by Melannen Halfelven
Summary: A series of short stories about Feanor's youth and how it shaped his entire life. R
1. StarKissed

**Star-Kissed**

Feanaro sat on the floor amongst many aged scrolls; his piercing silver eyes were focused intently on the one he was studying. His sable hair was tied back with a few stray wisps framing his young face. He sat crossed legged with his head in his hands, his brow furrowed in concentration as his eyes roamed rapidly back and forth across the parchment. His bare feet stuck out from underneath his white tunic. Beside him was a small lantern that was glowing unsteadily, the flame being toyed with by the slight breeze that meandered through the room. When it finally went out, Feanaro let out an exasperated sigh.

"_Undomekal_! Come back, I was only just starting to find what I was looking for!" For all his inner fire and strength, Feanaro was still only a child as he pleaded with the cooling wax. He stood up and brushed off his legs before glancing down at the mounds of scrolls he had been sitting in the midst of. He quickly gathered them up in his arms and put them back on the shelves from which he had first gotten them. The stone was cold and hard beneath his feet as he left the study.

Once he emerged from the building out into the courtyard, the Elf child gazed up at the stars above him. "_Ai! Ela!_ You see, _elenirimbe_, you shine even with the wind and night! If only your light could be held and kept!" He sighed and scuffed his foot against the stone. "Though I suppose you would not want that." He sniffed. "No one likes being trapped within a shell to small for them! No one likes to be confined with no room to stretch! No room to shine. A trap, that is all it would ever be. They would marvel at your light, and say 'Is it not wonderful?' yet if they would only let you free, then they would be blinded by your brilliance! Unlike anything they had before imagined! Yet by the time they let you go, your light will have darkened from the strain!" He stopped, realizing how foolish he sounded, shouting up at the heavens. "You cannot hear me, can you, _eleni_? You stay there, smiling and twinkling down at everyone. Though you will always be there, for no one can conquer the skies."

He walked quietly back through the large arch which led him to a green lawn with a tall fountain leaping happily in its center. Feanaro wandered slowly back to his bed chamber, slipping in by the means of the tall windows. He yawned, realizing just how late it was. He would have gone to bed had he not heard voices from down the hall. He silently crept out his door and down to his father's room. A golden light spilled from underneath the closed door.

There were two voices, one he immediately recognized as Finwe's, though the other he could not discern. It was that of a woman, he was certain, but he did not know who.

"Indis, I will ever only love you."

"What of your wife Miriel?"

"She is gone – the past – and will not return. She is dead, Indis."

The words hit Feanaro with such force that he stumbled backwards down the hall. He knew that his mother had been greatly wearied, though his father had always told him that she would return. Had that merely been an explanation to silence him? And yet, while his father should have been grieving her passing, he had taken a lover! Though what if they had been lovers before the death of his mother? Had his father been unfaithful to Miriel? Having so quickly forgotten her, the idea did not seem so absurd as it might have at another time. The questions poured forth like a giant wave. The lies he had been told were unbearably painful to him. He had hoped every day for her return to him – to them, his father too. How dare he shame her and take some Vanyarin harlot!

Feanaro collapsed onto his bed, his small body shaking violently from his sobs. Tears spilled down his face, but he did not wipe them away. Soon his cries subsided to soft whimpers as he lay prone on his bed, his face hidden in the fold of his arms. If his father had thought so poorly of his mother, what did Finwe think of him? Was he disgraced by his son? Was he too weak for the King's liking? Did he only show his son love because it was expected of him? Did he care at all for Feanaro? All of the questions swarmed around him like angry bees, stinging painfully. Each soul-prick forcing another choked sob from the Elf child.

Feanaro let out a shuddering breath and sat up. He wiped his swollen, red eyes with the backs of his hands before climbing down from his bed and out the windows once again. He hugged himself tightly as he ran across the courtyard, tears streaming anew down his small face. So many lies. He reached the confines of his home and slipped over the walls like a shadow.

He ran until his legs became weak beneath him and his knees buckled. His throat was sore from weeping and his tears were spent. He shook from exhaustion as much as emotion. He curled up into a tight ball against the trunk of a large tree, his arms wrapped around his thin legs, and his head resting on his knees. His black hair was tousled and had long since come loose. His arms and legs were scratched terribly from the thorns he had run through.

He awoke at dawn, but not from the light. A white puppy, with long gangly legs and a whip-like tail, was nosing him curiously. He pushed it away. It insisted, making impatient dog noises.

"_Kele!_ Leave me alone!" He shouted at it when it continued to prance around him excitedly.

It whined and sulked off, its tale between its legs.

Feanaro looked sadly at the puppy as it walked off, casting occasional glances back at him.

The Elf child snuffled as his tears came back. The young dog turned and came back to him, licking his face with a wet, pink tongue. Feanaro pet the furry face and a shadow of a smile crossed his lips. Sensing its acceptance, the puppy climbed into his lap and rested its head on Feanaro's shoulder, ruffing contentedly. The young Elf wrapped his arms around the small animal and buried his face in the white fur and wept. He told the creature about what had transpired and how he feared his father did not care at all for him. The dog only licked away his tears and listened without ever questioning what he said. Just listening like the friend Feanaro never had. The deep chocolate eyes stared into silver ones when the child finished. "What do they call you?" He asked the pup suddenly.

The dog cocked its fuzzy head and looked at him, and barked.

"You need a name."

He was rewarded with slobbery kisses.

Feanaro smiled. "You look like a dog with the body of a deer." He laughed. "I shall call you Huan!" A yip of agreement.

Feanaro jumped up when there was a deep laugh behind him. "Huan, a fitting name for one who is destined to be great." Orome chuckled.

The small child held the puppy tightly in his arms. "He is my friend! You cannot take him away!" New tears welled up in his eyes at the thought of losing his only friend.

"He is a gift, if you wish, Prince of the Eldalie."

"I thank thee, lord." Feanaro said as he struggled to get a better grip on the slipping Huan. The Vala smiled.

"What are you doing so far from your home, little one?"

"It is not my home anymore, they do not want me there." He whispered sadly.

"Do not be foolish, Feanaro. Of course they do."

"Then why did the Elven Lady stay so long into the night?"

Orome was taken aback. "Who?"

"Lady Indis of the Vanyar."

The Vala stroked his chin. "Come child." Seeing his hurt expression, he quickly added, "Bring the dog too."

Orome helped Feanaro up behind him on his great steed, Nahar. Huan sat patiently in front of the Elf child. When Orome spoke to the horse, Nahar sprang away with a blurring speed.

Finally when they reached the walls of Feanaro's home they found Finwe at the gates, his expression worried. The Vala leapt off of Nahar and helped down the Elf child and his dog.

Upon seeing Finwe, Feanaro backed away.

"Curufinwe!" the King shouted with joy as he ran up and embraced his son. "Curufinwe I was so worried for you! Where have you been?"

The silence from Feanaro was deafening, and the mistrust in his eyes pained the King. "Curufinwe?" Feanaro did not say a thing. "_Quette!_" The child shook his head. "_Ion nin, an mana?_"

Feanaro struggled out of Finwe's grasp. "I am fine." he said defiantly, against the way he truly felt. In truth he wanted to crumble. "I got lost in the forest and Lord Orome came upon me in the wood." He gave the Vala a piercing glare, daring him to say otherwise.

"Was that the way of it?" The King asked Orome.

"Aye, it was."

"My thanks, then."

Orome nodded and leapt upon Nahar and rode off.

"Come child, you look cold and hungry." Finwe took his son's hand and led him inside.

Indis greeted them at the stairs, happy as well to see Feanaro home. Upon seeing her something feral flashed in Feanaro's eyes, though it vanished almost before it could be seen.

He ate and then went back into his bed chamber. Once he was there, Feanaro threw himself upon the bed and screamed. The heart-wrenching ululation was muffled by a pillow, and no one heard it.

_I am a shameful thing._

_I am not the son of a king,_

_But the whelp of misery and pain._

_Never shall I break an oath again._

_I will regret nothing, nor shed a tear._

_I will face my foes invincible, without fear._

_None will change my course, but I._

_And I will remember that only cowards cry._

_I am Feanaro Curufinwe._

_I will find a way._


	2. A Gift of the Heart

**A Gift of the Heart**

Feanaro sat on the edge of the fountain, idly swishing his hand in the cool water. The light of Laurelin was waxing and the golden light danced around him. His ebony hair cascaded down his shoulders, and was kept back by two thin braids. He wore upon his brow a mithril circlet. His cold, silver eyes were distant as he wandered the twisted paths of his mind. The innocence of youth still lingered on his face, but there also was a trace of the unescapable truth which was adulthood.

A timid tap on his shoulder made Feanaro look up. The cerulean eyes of his little brother Fingolfin looked at him curiously. The little noldo's midnight hair was tousled and he had a smudge of dirt on his nose. The older of the two smiled at his youthful artlessness.

"Fayfay," Feanaro put on his exasperated but patient and willing face. "I —." he smiled and held up a clumsily wrapped package. "I made something for you."

Feanaro grinned and took the bundle. He gave it a considering look and a mischievous shake that made Fingolfin vibrate with anticipation of his opening it. Feanaro carefully pulled off the ribbon and unfolded the paper. To his well-trained eye it was terribly awkward, but he pulled his little brother into a tight hug.

"Thank you, Fingolfin." He looked again at the portrait of Elnar, his horse, and laughed. "It looks just like him." Fingolfin beamed.

"I am glad you like it." He snuggled into Feanaro's cloak, and sniffed. "Fayfay, you smell like lembas."

Feanaro looked down at him, unsure of how to respond to the comment. He sighed, "I do?" Fingolfin nodded and hid a yawn. "Atar will be angry if you stay up much later."

"I shall go to —," another huge yawn, "Sleep." Within seconds he was snoring softly on Feanaro's shoulder. The oldest son of Finwe shook his head and picked up his little brother. Staggering under his weight, Feanaro carried Fingolfin back to his room and tucked him into bed.

"A lore marave." He blew out the candles and just as he was leaving, Fingolfin murmured in his sleep.

"U-linen imbe wilwarini."

Feanaro laughed and closed the door. "Fingolfin, you did not sing with butterflies?" He asked himself. "Loony little Elf."

The click of nails on the stone alerted him of Huan's presence before he turned the corner. The energetic ball of fur and legs rammed into his knees and sent them both flailing through the air. The pup was huge, and was still growing. His paws were tremendous and he still had a lot of loose skin. Feanaro took the dog's head in his hands and growled at him, Huan growled back, but his whip-tail never stopped wagging. Feanaro stood up and continued down the hall, with the hound prancing at his feet.

He knocked softly on the door to his father's study. "Come in." Feanaro entered. The enormity of the room and the intoxicating smell of ancient texts and tapestries always left him breathless. Perhaps, one day, he could have a study like this too. Finwe sat his desk with a haphazard mound of scrolls in front of him.

"Aiya, ion nin!" He looked up and smiled. Feanaro sat in the chair across from his father and crossed his arms on the desk.

"Atar, I must know something." Finwe stopped writing and gazed at him.

"Aye?"

"Do you love my naneth?"

Finwe sighed, so many times had he been asked the same question. "Curufinwe, your mother is in the Halls of Mandos."

"You avoid the answer." He said bitterly. "Then, answer me this. Did you sleep with Indis before she died?"

"Curufinwe!"

"Did you?"

"No!" he steadied his voice. "No, I did not."

"You lie."

"Feanaro, my son, I would never lie to you."

Tears burned his eyes. "Then why, when you look at me, do you recoil? I am no thief, but your son. Why must you see me as a failure? I love you atar."

"Feanaro, you are being childish." The King said softly.

The elfling shook his head and left the room. The sanctuary of his own chambers did little to stem the flow of his tears. "Atar cannot understand." He told himself. "He does not walk in both worlds, he has not seen Iluvatar." He wept silently.

I am a lonely thing,

Not the son of a King.

We dance a vicious game,

Of love and lies and blame.

A paper masquerade,

With the sharpness of a blade.

I cannot hear them calling,

For into the dark I am falling.

My fate will not delay.

I am Feanaro Curufinwe.


	3. I Ai'Aran the Little King

Suilad! Sorry for the wait. Just so everybody knows Arato is one of Fingolfin's names. The book never really mentioned how much older Feanor was than Fingolfin, so, for simplicity's sake, I have them pretty close together. At this point Feanor is the eldarin equivalent of about 15, and Fingolfin about 10. Hope you all like it. REVIEW!

**I Ai'aran "the little king"**

A loud crashing sound ripped through the early quiet of the mist-veiled Tirion. It was followed by the rippling sound of Eldarin laughter as Feanaro and Fingolfin raced through the halls, knocking over candelabrums and whatever else was unlucky enough to be caught in their paths. The two ebony blurs barreled out of the great hall, down the broad steps, and into the surrounding forest. Eventually the elder slowed. The unrelenting little brother behind Feanaro tackled him, sending them both headlong into the lush grass. Fingolfin sat up spitting the dirt out of his mouth, but laughing nonetheless. Feanaro, though, was slightly more dignified in the picking of foliage from his face, hair, and clothes.

Fingolfin smiled proudly, despite the large smudge of mud across his cheek and forehead. "I caught you." He declared.

Feanaro gave him a despairing look. "Aye, you did, but, Fin, you wrecked the hall and nearly broke both of our necks doing it."

Fingolfin pouted, realizing he had been outwitted again. "I still got you, and I can do again."

Feanaro slapped his forehead in mock exasperation. "I do not doubt it." He looked over at his younger brother, who, while still a child, had begun to grow out of his innocence. His features were still too angular, his deep blue eyes were still too large, and his ears stuck out too far, but the bumbling youth was melting away. What Feanaro could see underneath was a warrior and a king.

Feanaro pulled himself from his trance and glanced around. Fingolfin had wandered off, again. He followed the barely noticeable track through the dewy grasses and he found his little brother waiting for him by the path that would bring them back to Tirion. Beside it flowed a small creek, with icy cold water. Arato grinned and held out his hand for Feanaro, who took it. They walked in silence for a while before Fingolfin suddenly turned and shoved his brother into the brook. Feanaro scowled at the elfling, getting back up, his whole rear-end soaked.

"You little fiend!"

Fingolfin took off running, smiling to himself in silent victory. He reached his father's bedchamber only seconds before Feanaro. Finwe looked quite stunned to see his two sons come flying into the room, one drenched.

"Arato! Curufinwe! What in Valinor —!"

They skidded to a halt, grinned, turned heel, and sprinted out again. They finally found refuge in the large study. Arato was content to let Feanaro explain to him the complexity of the Noldorin trade systems, language, and history. Occasionally he let slip a snide remark about Feanaro's incredible dullness in ever listening to their tutors.

Iaranto, the very instructor who Fingolfin happened to be commenting on, found them. He took them both by their collars and walked them to the King. Iaranto planted them firmly in seats opposite to Finwe.

"Three broken vases, one ignited tapestry, a cracked mirror, and seven, seven," the King repeated ominously, "Different Noldor who required a healer." He set down the list and sighed. "Explain yourselves."

"Well, I –." Arato began.

"It was my fault, atar." Feanaro cut in. "I was not thinking and I convinced Fingolfin to join me." Arato gave him an incredulous look, shocked that he could have lied so blatantly to their father. Yet, he was grateful for it.

Finwe shook his head. "Feanaro, when will you learn?" he made a disapproving sound. "Do not do it again, do you understand?"

"Aye."

"Then away with you! I need peace." Finwe laughed.

They sprung up from their chairs and beat a hasty retreat. As soon as they were out of earshot, Fingolfin spoke.

"_An man quettelye esse_?"

"_Man quetten_?"

"_Caitelye_." Fingolfin said accusingly.

Feanaro sighed and put his arm around his little brother. "There are times when one must lie."

"_Mana?_"

"Do not ask so many questions, Fin." Curufinwe said softy. "Silence is your best weapon."

The little elfling looked at him curiously, but wisely decided against asking him to explain. They walked in companionable silence for a while before Fingolfin spoke.

"What was your naneth like, Fea?"

"I never really knew her." He said.

Fingolfin stopped walking to ponder this, and had to jog to catch up to Feanaro, who had not stopped. "How can you not know your mother?"

"She went to Mandos shortly after I was born."

"I am sorry."

"I do not want your pity." Feanaro said coldly.

"Forgive me."

Feanaro looked down at his half-brother and saw not someone who was trying to be sly, but only a confused little noldo who had gotten his feelings hurt. "Lá mauya nin apsene."

Fingolfin grinned. "May no grief then divide us, Spirit of Fire." The wisdom, and foresight, which echoed in his words came not from Fingolfin the child, but Fingolfin the King.

A sudden flash of fire engulfed Feanaro's vision. He struggled against it. Struggled against the power of foresight which haunted him. The field spread out before him; it was bleak and all that was once green was charred black. Then it swirled and he saw Melkor, and in his hand was the great mace of the Underworld, Grond. Malice burned in his eyes. The small figure stood, undaunted, before him. The Elf held aloft a great sword, on which many runes were written. A cry of despair lurched to Feanaro's lips when he recognized the grim set of the features behind the helm. The blood-streaked hair which was lifted in the foul wind, and the blazing eyes. May Iluvatar bless that stubbornness and valour. He watched, helpless, as the Elf King was beaten again and again to his knees, and how each time Fingolfin staggered up again. A savage cry split the air when Morgoth crushed the Elf Lord beneath his iron-shod foot. Only then did Feanaro realize it was he who screamed.

Feanaro opened his eyes and was once again back in Tirion. His little brother was staring up at him, and many questions were in his eyes. Curufinwe knelt down and pulled Arato into a fierce hug. "Be careful, Fin." The younger son of Finwe nodded.

"I shall be."

Feanaro stood up and shook his head, trying to get rid of the last bits of the vision which still lingered in his mind. Just as he did so, the chiming of many bells announced that the evening meal was being served.

"We will be late!" Fingolfin sprang up and pulled Feanaro down the corridor towards the dining hall. The elder of the two grinned, nothing was more important to his little brother than his stomach.

Feanaro found himself drug into the large chamber and plopped down in a chair with his father to his right and Fingolfin to his left. He watched with amusement as Arato heaped food onto his plate before wolfing it down. Though after seeing a glimpse of his brother's doom, Feanaro had lost his appetite.

Fingolfin was so busy chattering with the others that when he grabbed his goblet to take a sip, he missed his mouth and the drink spilled down his front. Curufinwe tried to hide his laughter while mopping up his little brother, just as Fingolfin tried to ignore the fizzy sound of compressed hysterics coming from Feanaro. Neither succeeded. Soon they both were rolling on the floor, howling.

"Sons." At Finwe's authoritative voice, they stopped and drug themselves back onto their chairs. When they were quiet he continued. "Your mother," Feanaro shot him a glance sharp enough to slice through bone, "And I have something to tell you." He smiled, unaware of the fire that was burning beneath Feanaro's thin layer of control. "She is with child."

Feanaro stood so quickly that his chair toppled behind him, but he ignored it. He strode from the chamber, hurt beyond words.

I do not know what to say,

About some of the things I saw this day.

Never had I seen him cry,

Or heard him utter any lie.

He always seemed above such things,

But I cannot know what each day brings.

Unbeatable he always seemed,

But I cannot deny the grief that gleamed

In his eyes when he looked at me this day.

I am Arato Curufinwe.


	4. The Fool's Fire

Thanks for the review, Hawk Master, it is very much appreciated. As for the change in Feanor's attitude towards Fingolfin . . . well, I wrote this chapter as a bit of an explanation. Read and review!

Feanaro watched sadly from his balcony as Fingolfin and Finarfin chased each other around the gardens below. Their dreams, unlike his, were too young to die. The dark cloud of Melkor had not yet descended upon their minds, for they were oblivious to such fate. He turned away when Fingolfin looked up at him, smiling. He could not bring himself to look into those eyes, whilst knowing that one day they would be closed forever. He squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to block out the picture in his mind of the mangled body as it was laid down upon the mountain.

He walked slowly from his room, unaware as to his destination. He found himself out in the gardens, where his brothers continued their game, whatever it was. Fingolfin laughed merrily and waved at him. Feanaro nodded before stumbling around the corner and being violently sick. He leaned against the wall, trying to hold back the tears which threatened to spill forth. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Feanaro pushed himself to his feet. He jumped when a hand was laid on his shoulder.

"You have seen it." It was more of a statement than a question.

The noldo looked up at Manwe and nodded. "Is there nothing I can do?"

The Vala wiped the hair from Feanaro's face. "Nothing. It is as Eru will have it."

"There must be something!" Feanaro cried in anguish.

Manwe pulled the small body into his arms. "I would change it, for I love your brother too, but I cannot."

"I would go in his stead. I would follow Melkor into the very dungeons of his lair! I would face balrogs and orcs, I would slay my own people if it meant keeping him from harm."

Manwe grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "No!" Then more gently, "No, Spirit of Fire, let us all hope it will not come to that."

"I fear for him, Sulimo."

The Vala smiled gently and said, "You are his older brother, that is your privilege."

"Privilege?"

Manwe sighed and got a far off look in his eyes. "Aye, you always get to fear what they are getting into." Feanaro could tell that he spoke from experience.

Later that day, when Feanaro was in his bedchamber seeking solitude, Finwe came to him. Feanaro was astounded as to why he could possibly be so joyful, when it seemed to him that a dark cloud hovered over them all. Beaming, Finwe embraced his son. The action was not returned. Oh, Feanaro wanted to throw his arms around his father and weep, but his own pride kept him from doing so. Sensing his son's mood, Finwe sat down beside him on the bed.

"Ion nin, Mahtan is coming to dine with us this evening. If it is not too much to ask, I would appreciate it if you would dress appropriately."

Mahtan taught Feanaro in the smithy nearly every day, and had seen him at his worst. He wondered why his father made the request. Yet, he did not ask. "I shall." He offered his father a weak smile.

"Good. I shall see you then?"

Feanaro nodded. "I will be down soon." He chose from his wardrobe a long robe that was silver in color. It was all he had that seemed appropriate. Everything else was either too drab or too ornamented. Then there was, of course, those things that were stained by dirt and time, testament to a childhood spent in Tirion. Once he was dressed, Feanaro placed a mithril circlet upon his brow and brushed his hair with an ivory comb. It was all he could do. He could not change what unnerved most people about him. He could not change his eyes.

He could hear laughter as he descended down the stairs. He greeted his father, and then Mahtan, and then . . . he heart tripped on its own feet, stunned. Feanaro was unused to be at a loss for words, yet as he stood there he could find nothing to say.

"Aiya, herinya. Coanya ná coalya. Hantanyel an tulielya." He choked out before falling into the nearest seat. He did not speak throughout the entire meal. He did not need to. He was sure that his eyes said all that was needed. He had unusually emotional eyes, even for one of the eldar. Fingolfin and Finarfin were laughing at him, commenting on his gawking. He did not reprimand them.

"Good night, prince." The phrase pulled him out of the fog. She was watching him, amused. He felt like a fool. He found that he did not particularly mind feeling like a fool. Not if it meant being looked at by this star-kindler.

He found his voice. "Good night, my lady." The raw emotion in his voice surprised even himself. Nerdanel lifted an eyebrow at him. Feanaro felt himself blush. "Please, come again." He hated pleading. He hated sounding like some weak kneed child. It was all worth it if she would come back, though.

Nerdanel smiled slightly and shook her head almost imperceptibly. _Neri, nalar iluve i er. Na lissi. U-estelo, anan lissi. _she thought to herself. _Men, they are all the same. He's sweet. Hopeless, but sweet._

Feanaro stared down the great stairs and watched Mahtan and his family ride away. Only once they had descended down the hill and into the trees beyond, out of sight, did he descend the rest of the way down the stairs. Though he did not follow the road, instead he turned off and continued into the shadows of the woods.

The distant light of the waning Telperion could not penetrate the thick forest. The only light came from the stars. For some reason that Feanaro could not explain, even to himself, the darkness soothed him. His wanderings led him eventually to a glade. Through the center a thin silver creek ran. He knelt beside it and cupped some of the water in his hands. As he was about to splash his face with it, Feanaro felt himself being pulled once again into the world of dreams.

There was a roar like thunder as the Balrog cracked its whip. The tongues of flame wrapped themselves around him, searing his flesh. He knew the battle he fought was a vain one, but he did not care. His sword was notched, and could not cut his flaming bonds. He let out a cry of pain as his skin was broken, and his blood ran freely down his arms. The demon of Morgoth pulled back his whip to strike again, and Feanaro stumbled backwards. Another Balrog advanced upon him from behind. The noldo was barely able to parry the blow it dealt him with its fiery blade. Beyond the wall of fire that engulfed him, Feanaro could see nothing. Gothmog's whip encircled him, and his skin hissed in the boiling heat. Dark spots crawled slowly in front of his vision. He fell to his knees. The Lord of Balrogs came in front of him, ready to deal the fatal blow. Feanaro struggled to stay conscious. Suddenly the Demon fled. Feanaro collapsed onto the ground, and could hear voices around him.

Feanaro was jerked back into reality. He lay on his back in the grass. His hands were shaking. A thick fog had blanketed the ground. It took him a while to realize he was being spoken to.

"Feanaro!" Fingolfin's voice broke the silence of the night. "I heard you screaming . . . . ."

"I am fine." The lie came before he thought to say otherwise. "It was only a dream."

Arato did not seem convinced, but offered his older brother a hand. Feanaro took it. It was then he knew he would do anything to keep Fingolfin from setting foot on Arda, even if it meant burning all the ships in the Sea.

I wonder what he saw tonight,

Such a thing to cause him fright.

I do not try to grasp his thought,

Or see what I know I cannot.

Simply put, I know he's fey,

But I am his brother, so I will stay.

Over seas or grinding ice,

I hope my loyalty will suffice.

We both are held by the bonds of kin,

I am Finwe's son, Fingolfin.


End file.
